Breathless
by TheBlueAmethyst
Summary: Blue and yellow petals scattered around her feet, and then she was finally alone. She didn't want to continue and yet, the Gallery consumes once more. One-shot!


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I swear on my life, I just needed to get this out. This initially started out as a semi-novelization of one of the _Ib All Alone_ Endings, but ended up turning into a longer, AU-ish fic than intended.

Uhm, enjoy?

 **WARNING:** This story includes heavy endgame spoilers, angst, and mentions of death. Please read at your own discretion.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Ib, this amazing game is by Kouri.

* * *

She sat at the edge of the lake, staring blankly at the static water. Crudely drawn red eyes greeted her when she scooted closer, and she let out a shaky sigh.

Ib pushed her brown hair back before tucking her knees between her arms, grimacing all the while.

* * *

 _"Come on!" she yelled, pulling him by the hand towards the top of the stairwell. The only answer she got was his ragged gasps and the scuttling of their pursuers, which if not for adrenaline, would have rendered her paralyzed in fear. Ib only gritted her teeth as they bounded upwards, tiny legs straining every step of the way._

 _Even once they reached the top, they still continued sprinting for their life, away from the noise and the monsters, and got about halfway through the dimly lit corridor before she felt the grip on her hand loosen. She abruptly stopped, peering up at her purple-haired companion with fear still etched across her features. He was breathing heavily, and sweat was rolling down the sides of his face._

 _A second was all it took for her to shake her unease away in favor of focusing on her friend._

 _"Garry?"_

 _The young man smiled apologetically at her, but seeing the crease on his forehead and crinkles on his eyes made him seem in pain. "S-Sorry Ib, I just need to catch my breath a bit. I… I think we're not being chased anymore too so let's go a bit slower."_

 _"Are you sure you'll be okay?" she couldn't help but ask._

 _His free hand came up to ruffle her head. "Yeah, don't worry about me." Something in her expression must have caused him to pause, and his face melted into one of his confident but gentle smiles. "We'll get my rose back, Ib. Mary couldn't have g-gone far."_

 _The brunette hesitantly nodded. They may have to get Garry's rose back from Mary, but she was now feeling exhausted from that frenzied escape, and her purple-haired companion looked too pale for comfort. So she greedily sucked in air to steady her heart that was battering against her ribcage, but instead she choked._

 _There were blue petals on the floor._

* * *

Ib shut her eyes with a whine, tears stinging and the sickening feeling in her stomach causing her to sniffle. The sudden movement reminded her of a weight in her pocket, and for a moment, she contemplated bringing the item out.

The red-eyed girl slowly reached into the folds of her clothes, and she palmed the object with a tight expression. She lightly brushed it with her thumb before bringing out the candy wrapped in yellow paper—a painfully familiar shade of yellow.

* * *

 _The room was dark, with a lone lamp sitting in the corner of the room. There were a few books and stuffed toys scattered around, but apart from that, the room was empty. The only thing of note… was the large portrait on the wall._

 _It stuck out from the crayoned background like a sore thumb, with a golden curved frame that brought attention to the standing dainty figure it portrayed. Her heart plummeted into her gut with a force that almost made Ib fall to her knees._

 _Suffice to say, it felt like an eternity before her legs got to move._

 _She clutched the lighter in her hands tightly, gaze never leaving the picture of her… friend._

 _Was she even her friend?_

 _… Does it matter?_

 _She wasn't sure, but all she could really feel was a heavy weight on her whole body, and the hollow feeling in her chest._

 _Footsteps echoed behind her just as she was about halfway into the room. She turned, an odd surge of hope at thinking that **maybeit'sGarry** only to see the reason for her misery stumbling in with a panicked expression. Blonde locks whipped at Mary's face at her sudden halt, and green eyes locked on to her own red ones._

 _"O-oh," she mumbled before facing her with a more relieved look. "It's you, Ib. I thought I smelled something b-burning so I came to check…"_

 _She simply watched the girl pat at her dress nonchalantly, though she could see the slight tremors of her hand. She was afraid, but all it had drawn from the brunette was a cold glare._

 _"So uh, this r-room was blocked off, and it looks to be a dead end so..." the blonde girl trailed off, glancing at her uneasily. "I f-found the exit, Ib!"_

 _Ib blinked a few times at that. "… The exit?"_

 _Mary nodded excitedly. "Yeah! Well, there's stairs leading up to the gallery," she announced, positively beaming at her with a grin that only increased the growing pit in her stomach. "I have a feeling we're close to getting out. I just know it."_

 _"Oh, uh, that's good," she said as she stepped back slowly._

 _The blonde girl's smile faltered a bit. "… Why are you moving away, Ib?"_

 _She didn't answer, and the girl's green dress fluttered as she moved forward in concern._

 _"Ib?"_

 _"Mary…"_

 _Her mouth twitched upwards, but her smile only made the portrait-brought-to-life stare at her wide-eyed and gaping in shock… or so she'd like to think. Her vision was blurring really bad, and she readied the lighter's trigger._

 _"Why did you make Garry sleep forever?"_

* * *

The taste of lemon got her nerves to smooth out as she watched the origami crane she folded out of the wrapper float away on the water. She stayed there for a good three minutes, but after a while, she got fed up with the act.

Ib walked towards the Pink House without a thought, but hesitated at the door.

She reached for her ribbon in thought, only to grasp at nothing. She froze, remembering that she had placed it with Ga—

No.

The brunette finally tugged at the doorknob and went on her venture back to the Gallery.

It took a while, but she finally reached what she recalled was the main lobby. The little sign-in book on top of the desk and the phone that wouldn't work, the chair behind it, the foggy window, the poster of one of the exhibits and… a strange stairway going down.

She eyed it with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Faint memories of exploring told her that this didn't previously exist, but then again, so did some of the rooms she had gone down in were as well. It didn't mean anything, and she therefore concluded that she should just leave.

She had to find the Fabricated World painting and go home…

… But it wouldn't hurt, right?

* * *

Wrong.

She found herself panting as she finally collected the last piece needed for her to get out of this mystery area. She quickly ran out of the room, and ignored the growl of the rabid man-like painting behind her. The way out was a large portrait that had to be assembled, much like a jigsaw puzzle, which showed the hand of a man painting something on his canvas.

Perhaps it was Guertena? She didn't really bother re-reading any of the books regarding him or his works, not seeing the point. Nevertheless, it was a bit of a dull piece.

Exhaling lightly, Ib entered the large, eerie room with only one exhibit under the spotlight.

 _Final Stage_ , it said.

It was… a weird choice for an art piece, she mused. A bed of black and red, almost ominous with the way the bed frames were jutting out at some places. The mattress and blanket looked too lumpy, but at least the pillows were large and fluffed. With the way the light shined at it, the whole thing looked imposing, for lack of a better word.

Once she moved the box blocking her way, Ib stopped to marvel the bed.

She inched closer, touching the fabric with her fingertips. The red-eyed girl closed her eyes, laying a palm on top of the cloth with a feeling of nostalgia.

… A part of her wanted to lie down right now.

Should she?

It… wouldn't be so bad.

The brunette suddenly sagged, bones weary, muscles aching and eyes drooping. She appeared to become years older by that act alone, and for a moment, her eyes reflected a soul to match that exterior.

Ib flashed a depreciating smile and slinked into the bed.

It was actually a lot more comfortable than she expected, and she easily sunk into the bed. The silence instantly lulled her to the brink of unconsciousness, and for the first time, Ib actually willed herself to just…

 _"Ib…"_

That voice…

 _"Haha, look at you? You're now nine…"_

Melodic laughter, like that of bells tinkling made her smile. _"We're so happy for you. Come up here Ib, here's the cake, and we have a special present for you."_

Mommy… Daddy…

 _"It's a handkerchief, made just for you, our special little girl."_

There was a snort. _"What's with the look? Mad you didn't get that book you wanted?"_

 _"Don't antagonize her dear."_

She liked the gift as it was something both of her parents put thought into. She wouldn't ask for more.

 _"We love you, Ib."_

She was sinking.

Maybe…

* * *

She jolts as she found herself staring at the ceiling of her bedroom once more.

Ib shut her eyes tiredly.

* * *

She didn't really know when she started remembering.

Each time she woke up, it felt like she had been aroused from a fever dream, and all the memories would fade away once she didn't actively focus on them. They'd just slip away into the recesses of her mind, and she'd go about the day with the oddest sense of déjà vu, and a lingering hollow feeling in her chest that she had waved off as nervousness.

All she really knew was that they were sad, often painful and angered ones, rarely terrified and lost, which made her confused, but the details escaped her and trying to dig them up brought a headache.

Sometimes she wondered if those dreams meant something, as it elicited tears that sent her parents into a worried fit once they had pointed it out. She had told them that she was just happy about going out with Mommy and Daddy, but once they turned away, her face would scrunch up and she'd just be stuck thinking and _thinking_.

"Ib," her mother's voice called out. "Come on, honey, get in the car and buckle up."

She pouted at her. "You still haven't told me where we're going."

The older woman smiled, just as her father came into view from behind the car and answered for her. "No use dear, she'll just bug us through the ride."

"No, I won't!"

He leveled her with an amused stare as if to say _Yeah, sure you will_. "Well, since you're the birthday girl, I'll be nice and say that we're going to an exhibit just an hour from here."

Ib blinked owlishly. "An exhibit?"

"Yes, Ib, it's by a man named Guertena, and we're sure you'll like it!"

Then, it all just clicked.

* * *

"Hey Ib, what do you wanna do when we get out?"

She craned her head towards her purple-haired companion with a thoughtful look. There were many ways in which she could answer, but only one stuck out the most.

"Eat something sweet maybe." She gave him a small, relaxed smile, still fond of the lemon candy he gave her. It really would be nice to have some ice cream as well… it's been a long time.

Garry noticeably perked up, and the hint of relief at her breaking out of silence didn't go unnoticed. "Oh, well, I know a café in the area that sells macaroons so we could go there… oh do you know what macaroons are?"

She nodded, plastering on an eager grin. "Yup! They're little colorful chewy cookies with fillings about the size of your palm."

A simple explanation, but it did get him to smile even brighter. She internally winced, blaming herself for being distant this time around.

"Yeah, they're really delicious. That café I got to has some of the best tasting ones. If you don't want one though, you could get some cake. They have a wide selection of flavors you know, from matcha to classic chocolate-and-strawberry combo, and they also serve a lot of interesting shakes! There's also some weird ice cream, like charcoal-flavored ones, but trust me, they're really neat."

The brunette chuckled, and Garry flushed red. "I got a little too ahead of myself…" he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, eyes darting to and fro.

It was a delight to find out he had quite the sweet tooth, and a weird… eccentric outlook in fashion, but being her she didn't want to rub it in.

Clearing her throat of the giggles, she eyed him shyly. "I would like to know what a macaroon tastes like…" At his comically devastated face, she suppressed a snicker and instead quickly added; "I only saw them from the cookbooks Mommy had."

To his credit, his surprise morphed into a determined look. "That won't do! When we get out of here, we'll visit that café. I promise you that, Ib."

She twitched, but covered that up with an awed look at him. "… Really?"

The young man held out his pinky, and she mirrored the gesture to wrap her much smaller pinky in his. It sent both soothing warmth and a painful chill around her, but for the man in front of her, she simply hid it away.

"I promise."

* * *

Ib sighed as she groggily got up from her bed.

After getting herself dressed up in her usual clothes, five minutes later than how she usually did, she ambled down the stairs to the kitchen. As usual, her father was at the table reading the newspaper while mother was cooking her favorite dish: tempura and fried noodles. She didn't really get why her Mother did that at first, but she finally figured that it was a bribe to get her out of the house just in case she'd tried to insist to just stay like any other time.

Trying to stay doesn't really change anything, anyways.

She shook the thoughts away, moving to sit down on the chair adjacent to her Father. "Good morning!" she chirped.

Her mother predictably was the first to respond. "Good morning Ib."

Father lowered the newspaper and gave her a wide smile. "Good morning, dear." He then went back to reading, and despite the many times he had done so, it still bothered the girl.

"Is it almost done yet?" she asked, letting her stomach do the thinking.

She didn't bother changing the menu today, too much work and delaying the inevitable would just cause her more problems.

Her mother turned to them with the spatula in her hands. "Almost ready, Ib. Are you ready to go out after we eat?"

She nodded, patting her pocket reflexively. Her handkerchief sat there, freshly washed and ironed out. A chocolate bar was also essential, but only that. Bringing a backpack and a book would be nice, adding a lot of inventory space and safeguarding her things, but like any other instance…

What would be the point?

She'd been stuck reliving this day for a decade now and nothing she actively did had gotten her out of it.

* * *

The blonde girl twirled happily, holding the umbrella open and playing with invisible puddles. She'd sometimes even readjust her black stockings and shoes as if wiping off any raindrops, and then promptly flick a wide grin at her.

"We should get that umbrella back to its owner," Ib simply said in a clipped tone, turning away from the hopping girl.

Mary pouted. "Oh come on Ib! Let's play a bit more."

 _And let this go any longer than it should?_ Her mind challenged, but she clamped that boiling anger down to simmering levels. "We can later. Besides, snow is cooler."

"Snow?!" the girl squealed excitedly as closed the umbrella and jogged up to her with a curious look. "And hold on Ib, was that a pun?" the girl voiced out, and she halted.

"Uhm…" Now that she thought about it, it was one, however unintentional it might have been.

She cocked her head with a blank look, just as the girl with the hidden palette knife squealed. "That was totally one, right? There was a joke book here somewhere, and there were a lot of puns in that. What you said sounded like one." Her dull blue eyes practically sparkled, and the red-eyed girl backed away once Mary got up in her face. "Can you teach me? Please, please, _pleaseeee_ , Ib?"

She awkwardly looked away. "I don't know…"

Her sense of humor was… nearly non-existent at this point.

The blonde grabbed her shoulder with a determined expression, ignoring the obvious social cue that anyone could decipher was screaming absolute discomfort. "Pleaseeeeeee, Ib?"

Ib sighed, but couldn't help but smile a bit. There was a shine of innocence there, and she couldn't get mad anymore.

"Okay. I could tell you some."

* * *

With every turn she had made, there was one thing she had failed to take account for.

Herself.

So maybe this could be it?

She staggered towards the painting, holding her chest in pain and a weight that she had familiarized herself with—how it was easing into her flesh and stroking her soul as if they were long lost friends. Two faces blurred in front of her as they faded and melded into the ever-so-familiar Fabricated World, two sets of hands outstretched in an attempt to pull her in. The frame was back in place, preventing them from doing so, and they desperately banged at the invisible barrier.

 _"Please Ib, don't!"_

 _"No, no, no, it can't be you Ib! Please!"_

She gave them both a sad smile, collapsing to the floor with a grunt.

 _"IB!"_

It was a cruel act, with a half-thought out reckless plan, but if she succeeded… then that was all she could ask for.

Their frantic voices were slipping away, her brain shutting down as the stalk in her hand lost its anchor. She could only hear the slowing beat of her heart, and she cast one last glance at the petals in her other hand before closing her eyes.

 _Please let them free._

* * *

She wretched out a ragged gasp and immediately her hands clamped down on her mouth to prevent alerting her parents. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but the realization that she was _back_ only fueled what emotions she was trying so, _so_ hard to push down to surface.

Why in the world does she have to continue living like this?

She curled up into herself, nails digging into her face.

Why does she have to listen to the Gallery's whims?

Why _her_?

Why can't she escape?

Why?

Why?

 **WHY?**

For once, Ib allowed herself to freely cry.

If not for herself, then for the many deaths her friends had to go through, even if they didn't know it.

* * *

Her narrowed eyes surveyed the expansive darkness and the floor with the message that beckoned her into the Gallery's clutches. The echoing footsteps were still a mystery to her, but she wasn't exactly invested enough in acknowledging who it might be. If it was another person who got involved in this mess, she would have run into them already.

 _But what if it was a person?_ A tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind. _We could save them._

"I can't even save myself," she muttered darkly. "And the others…"

The brunette paused to cast a baleful glare at the thing that started it all, the Fabricated Word that kept sucking her in for whatever reason, and walked to the main lobby to trigger the two windows. Just as she entered the area where… where Garry's portrait would be, the wet smack of red paint caused her to backpedal in shock.

 **do you hate us ib?**

She swallowed dryly. "… I'm tired of this," she deflected.

Another smack caused her to narrow her eyes.

 **do you really hate us?**

She moved towards the window where the hand would knock, but instead…

 **ib wants out?**

She inhaled sharply. "Of course I would. But you keep dragging me back into this place, and I don't even know what to do anymore." She bitterly stated and then looked upwards, to where blue paint was suddenly dripping down, thankfully away from her. She scowled and moved downwards to the next window she had to activate, more or less just for consistencies sake.

 **ib can be freed**

She scoffed, but didn't say anything as she neared the window. Her reflection greeted her with the most exhausted face she'd seen, but she wiped it off in favor of her indifferent one.

She was too young, and she did want to experience more things.

But can she really do that now?

"I already tried," she whispered to herself more than to her surroundings. "I tried to save them, I've already given them both chances to live, but it just keeps on going and going. Even going through more than thousands of ways of dying doesn't satisfy you, apparently. Doing nothing still gets me to this point. I even decided to be the replacement, and you couldn't even give me that. Just what do you want from me?"

She was wheezing, and she only realized that she had started yelling.

Ib let out a cross between an explosive sigh and an exasperated scoff. "I've already asked you to let us go… but now that I think about it... you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The paint had almost reached the floor, but they were animatedly moving to the side and spelling out something that set her teeth violently grinding.

 **lets play some more ib**

* * *

 **ADDITIONAL AN:** I'd also planned for this to be a study on the whole _'why **is** the Gallery alive?'_ idea that's been bogging me for years. Poor Ib becomes the scapegoat to its machinations. My interpretation could be solely summed up with these three words: _Misery loves company_. Feel free to take that in whatever way you will.


End file.
